Sugar High
by stolenenchantment
Summary: On a homework free Saturday night, Harry becomes extremely sugar high. He is on his way to the kitchen to find more sugar when he runs into Draco Malfoy, who is on a similar quest. Unexpected slashy things take place. SLASH HPDM
1. Sugar High

(A/N): Hi :waves: I am extremely a. bored b. hyper and c. happy right now, and I thought, oh! What a perfect mood to write a fanfic! I've been thinking about writing a Harry/Draco for a while now and today this idea came to me...but be warned. I am insane. :D Bwaha! LOL…sigh. I love Harry Potter.

This is set in Harry and Draco's fifth year.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, or Draco, or Ron, or Hermione, or – well, you get the picture. I wish I did though, because OH the things I would do. Teehee.

I hope you enjoy! I have chocolate-covered Draco-and-Harrys for those who review!!!

Sugar High

It was nearing two in the morning and the common room had long since been emptied. The only remaining students were Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger, sitting dazedly in the huge, fluffy armchairs by the fire and blowing huge pink bubbles with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. None of them were tired in the slightest; on the contrary, it was a Saturday without homework (the first in a while; celebrations had to be made), they had spent all day enjoying themselves wasting time at Hogsmeade, and they were now in the very midst of an extremely satisfying sugar high. Harry was examining his fingers with a detached, gleeful look on his face, Ron was watching the enormous bubbles they had blown sailing through the air over their heads, and Hermione was peeling the wrapper off her third Chocolate Frog, wearing a dreamy, vague smile that rivaled Luna Lovegood's.

"I love chocolate," she said happily, in a very un-Hermioneish way.

"Me too," said Ron, grinning hugely. "It's amazing. It's better than everything."

"No!" Harry insisted, looking up from his pensive study of his hands. "Quidditch. Then chocolate."

"Oh," Ron said amicably, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, right…"

"Do you know what I think?" Hermione demanded suddenly, jumping to her feet, eyes serious and focused as she looked from Harry to Ron and back again.

"What?" Harry asked curiously.

"I think," she declared. "That we're going to win next week's match. We're going to _stomp_ Slytherin. That's what I think."

Harry and Ron exchanged a lazy grin. It was always fun when Hermione was sugar-hyper; she seemed to pick up on Quidditch fever and consequentially talked and cared more about it. Then again, everything was at least six times funnier and better when they were under the influence of sweets.

"Guys," said Ron, in a very serious tone of voice, as though he were discussing their hatred of Umbridge. "I like my pajamas."

Harry and Hermione both snorted.

"Yeah, they're pretty nice," said Harry with a grin. "A little short in the ankle, though."

"Shut up, Harry," said Ron cheerfully. "You know you like them. I see you looking at them when they're all folded up at the end of my bed. I think you're jealous. Plaid is extremely cool and _you_ don't have anything plaid."

Harry laughed. "Yes, you're right, I envy you, Ron." He reached over the side of his chair to grab another package of Bertie Bott's, but his hand came up empty. He peered blearily down at the pile of discarded wrappers and bags, searched through them for a new package, found nothing. He gave a rather dramatic sigh and got to his feet.

"Well, guys, I'm out of supplies," he said with a big grin, all frustration forgotten. "I'm off to the kitchen. Any requests?"

"Nah," said Hermione. "I'm done. I think I'll go to bed."

And without so much as a goodnight, she stood up and began to walk over to the stairs leading up to the girl's dormitory. She got halfway up before she tripped over her own feet; landing hard on her bottom, she started giggling uncontrollably and called, "Whoops. Clumsy me. Oh yeah…"

She stood up, turned, and waved at her best friends. "Goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight," they chorused, grinning. After Hermione had disappeared into her dormitory Ron got up as well.

"I think I'll turn in too," he said. "I've got some – er – stuff to take care of."

Harry was too distracted by the large magenta gum bubble floating right in front of his face to notice Ron's furtive tones and guilty expression. Without glancing at him he said, "Okay. See you in the morning."

"Night, mate," Ron said. Then he was gone.

Harry snatched his Invisibility Cloak from its place on his chair, then draped it carefully over himself and stole through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was snoozing in her armchair; not thinking, Harry slammed the picture shut behind him and she awoke with a squawking cry of, "What? What's happening? Who's there?"

Laughing to himself, Harry took off down the hallway, the comfortable castle air swirling around him, lifting the hem of the cloak from his trainers. He loved the quiet of the school at night, the peace, it was never like this during the day and it was perfection just to have some time alone. He began to hum loudly as he maneuvered the corridors and passageways, and he was just in the middle of a nice daydream about racing along on his Firebolt when he collided sharply with someone hurtling along in the other direction.

"OOF!"

He was knocked clean off his feet. Landing painfully and gracelessly on his backside, the cloak flying off him, he lay stunned for a moment, then sat up, groping frantically for his cloak, which he located after a few panicked seconds. Harry readjusted his glasses, tucked the watery, thick material under his arm, then peered over at the dark shape sitting up next to him.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Harry braced himself for the wave of malicious comments that usually flooded his brain at the sight of Malfoy, but none came. Instead, that feeling of peace and love of everything in the world remained, and he blinked, confused, before grinning over at the blonde.

To his great surprise, Malfoy grinned back and exclaimed, "Hi, Potter!"

"Hi, Malfoy!" Harry said. "I was just off to the kitchen to get some more sugar, want to come?"

"That's funny," Malfoy said slowly. "I was doing the same thing." He looked around, shook his head to clear it. "Oh, hey, we're already here!" And he pointed at the portrait on the wall right above their heads. Harry recognized the fruit bowl.

"That's convenient," Harry said, laughing. "I love sugar. Yes, yes, yes. Love it. Chocolate too."

"Absolutely. I've had tons but it's not enough, definitely _not_ enough." Draco glanced down at his foot, wiggled it, and added, in a voice of shock and awe, "Hey! Potter! My foot moves!"

Harry burst out laughing. "Incredible! Amazing!" He glanced over at the other boy, whose usually sleek blonde hair was falling messily into his eyes like storms, and registered that Draco looked very sexy tonight. Very sexy indeed.

Wow. Sugar-highs made your mood change _fast_. All of a sudden Harry could not keep his eyes off Draco, sitting sprawled on the cold stone floor, watching his foot wiggle around inside his sneaker. He closed his eyes and got to three and a half before he realized he didn't want to stop thinking about it, didn't need to hear the cries of _it's wrong_ and _he's your biggest enemy_ that his conscience was reminding him with. Conscience? What conscience? He didn't have one when he was sugar high. And with that in mind, he opened his brilliant emerald eyes and found Malfoy gazing straight at him.

They had a staring match for what had to be an eternity. Then Harry reached over and touched Draco's face, his skin like pale alabaster under Harry's fingertips, and then Draco was pulling him forward and crushing his mouth to Harry's for a frantic, feverish kiss.

Harry parted his lips for Malfoy, let him taste him, open him, his hands running fast and reckless over Draco's body while the favor was returned. Then he pushed back and their tongues dueled for control until he won and shoved his tongue into the other boy's mouth, explored, eliciting a soft moan from the back of Draco's throat. The noise spilled over into Harry's mouth and he felt himself shudder with pleasure, chills running the length of spine. This was incredible.

When they finally pulled back, both gasping for air, Harry met Draco's deep gray eyes, clouded with sugar and arousal, and managed, "You want – to go back – to the common room?"

"Mine or yours?" Draco replied immediately, raking back his silken blonde hair.

"Mine, it's closer," Harry answered, and they jumped up; in their haste Harry forgot to drape the Invisibility Cloak about their shoulders, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting to a bed.

On the way they held hands, which was difficult as they were racing along as fast as was humanly possible, but that was what made it interesting. Once or twice they stopped to kiss, but only briefly, as hour-long snogging sessions in the middle of a Hogwarts hallway, no matter how late at night, was not exactly what you'd call a safe bet. When they finally reached the Fat Lady, once again out of breath, she glanced at them and said serenely, "I really ought not to let you in. Mr. Potter, a student from another house, honestly."

"Gillywater!" Harry snapped at her, praying she was joking, and sure enough, she swung forward on her hinges to allow them entrance, albeit muttering to herself all the same. Ignoring her and keeping a firm grip on Draco's hand, Harry jumped through the hole, shutting the portrait safely behind. Once inside he checked to be sure they were alone. Then he reached out for Malfoy and pulled him close for another searing kiss.

This one lasted. They stood there, pressed so close they began to share body heat, stroking and exploring each other until finally Draco pulled away and yanked his robes over his head. Then he grabbed Harry's hand and pressed it to the hot bulge in the front of his jeans.

Harry hesitated for a split second. Then he grabbed Malfoy and kissed him again, their mouths fusing together, no beginning, no end, his hand sliding up to undo Draco's jeans. He dipped his fingers into the blonde's pants, mapping out an unfamiliar trail with his hand, finding Draco's hardness and stroking it until he came messily, moaning and panting into Harry's open mouth. Harry withdrew his fingers then to lick the Slytherin's juices from his palm, slow, experimental. When he had finished he met Draco's eyes, still cloudy, and said,

"Better than chocolate. No contest."

Malfoy gave a low, husky laugh. Then he let Harry pull him upstairs to the dormitory, where they collapsed as one onto Harry's bed. It seemed they weren't the only ones: Seamus's bed was vacated and there were suspicious noises coming from the direction of Ron's closed hangings.

Harry and Draco laughed at each other, silently. Draco said, "Who would have thought. Finnigan and Weasley."

"Look who's talking," Harry said with a grin before leaning down and taking Draco's mouth in a slow, gentle kiss.

FIN

(A/N): Woot. I think this is going to be a oneshot but I'm not entirely sure. What do you think? Should I write more?


	2. Aftermath

(A/N): Um. Wow. Due to enormous response, as well as some new ideas given to me by reviewers, I have decided to expand upon this story!!!

To all my reviewers: Thank you guys SO MUCH! I love you :hands out chocolate-covered Draco-and-Harrys to everyone: You guys are totally awesome.

Okay. So, on with the show. :dims lights: Ah, and just so you know, Harry and Seamus aren't fighting...what fun with that be? What with...well...you'll see.

Aftermath

Consciousness came slowly to Harry the next morning, partly due to the fact that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to wake up. He was enjoying his dreams very much, thank you, and he was quite keen to keep them going. However, it was not to be so; he felt himself becoming steadily more aware of his body, of the soft blanket tickling his face, the warmth curled up against him under the covers. He cracked his eyes open sleepily and saw a mass of pale-blonde hair spread out like white silk over his pillow. Smiling, he raised his fists to his eyes to rub drowsiness out of them, thinking, _okay, everything's normal today, everything's fine_.He was halfway through a yawn when he realized two things simultaneously: one, he did not have blonde hair, and two, there was not supposed to be another person in the bed with him.

Attempting not to panic, Harry sat up, letting the covers fall off him as he did, which alerted him to a third thing definitely not categorized under the heading A NORMAL DAY: he did not usually sleep naked. He put a hand to his forehead, thinking back, pressing himself to remember what had happened last night, but he could not remember anything after returning from Hogsmeade…there was just black and confusion and the faint recollection of consuming a lot of sugar-filled sweets. He forced himself not to jump to the obvious conclusion as he leaned over to pull the covers away from his unexpected bedmate's face, chanting a pacifying mantra under his breath: "Calm down. It's okay. Calm down." But in the next second, it became impossible to take his own advice, for there, lying next to him on the bed, breathing slowly and heavily, a small, peaceful smile on his lips, was Draco Malfoy. And what was worse, he was naked too.

Harry panicked.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The sudden yell caused Draco to jolt upright, so fast it was like he'd been touched by fire. He caught sight of Harry and his gaze flew from the Gryffindor's face to his bare torso to the bed they were lying in to his own naked chest, eyes growing wider and wider until it appeared they would pop out of his head. As soon as he had completed the rotation his head snapped up and those horrorstricken metallic eyes met Harry's own. Then he joined in the screaming.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"MALFOY WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED????" Harry bellowed.

"POTTER WHAT THE BLOODY HELL AM I DOING IN YOUR BED????" Draco roared, at the exact same time.

By now, the entire dormitory was awake. Neville was sitting up, yelling something at the top of his lungs about someone stealing his _Mimbulus mimbletonia_, apparently convinced he was still dreaming. Dean had jumped out of bed and was now standing stunned in front of one of the windows, his eyes pinned strictly to Harry and Malfoy. Ron and Seamus were fighting to pull the covers off themselves in Ron's bed; they too had awoken moments before, a little confused as to how they had gotten there but not entirely unsurprised to find that they were sharing a bed. There had been a spark between them for a while; it was just the first time they had done something about it.

"What did we – I mean – " Harry paused to rephrase, still half-shouting, unwilling to ask something that began with "what did we do…?" when the "we" in question referred to himself and Malfoy. When he found the right words he reverted back to screaming again in an effort to let out some of his frustrations. "WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?"

Draco held his hands up, all helpless, revolted confusion. "You think _I_ would know?" he asked, shaking his head fast back and forth so his white-blonde hair flew. "I – I – this _can't_ have been my idea," he finished haughtily, a touch of the usual arrogance in his low drawl.

"Oh," said Harry, with a kind of hysterical sarcasm. "So it's _my _fault, is it? _My_ fault you're in my bed? I don't remember _anything_ about last night, how do you expect it to be _my_ fault?"

"Well, I don't remember anything either!" Draco exclaimed, his usually excellent mental comeback list failing him under such sudden trauma. _Just when I needed it_, he thought bitterly. "I can't believe this, I can't believe it, in bed with _Harry Potter _– what are YOU staring at?" he added in a fierce growl to Neville and Dean. Neville jumped but Dean laughed.

"I dunno, Malfoy," he said seriously. "Couldn't be the fact that you're in bed with your worst enemy, could it?"

Ron and Seamus joined them then, two of Ron's sheets wrapped low around their lean hips. Seamus rested his elbow on one of Ron's freckled shoulders and sneered at Malfoy, who glared just as viciously back, so incensed he failed to notice how odd they looked.

Harry, too shocked to be angry, turned to Malfoy, and their eyes met. For a split second, both were aware of something occurring between them, but then the instant passed and Harry said flatly, "Malfoy. Get out. Now."

For once in his life, Draco listened to Harry, yanking his jeans up from where they pooled around his ankles under the covers and snatching up his robes from the floor, throwing a harsh, "My pleasure," over his shoulder as he went. The door slammed shut behind him and after that there was utter silence as Harry ran his fingers repeatedly through his jet-black hair, his eyes wide and staring, his fingers clenching the blankets settled at his waist. Finally Ron broke the quiet, tentatively.

"Okay. I forbid you to have any more sugar _ever_, Harry."

His words brought nervous snorts of laughter from the rest of the boys, quickly stifled and swallowed until they saw Harry's reluctant grin. He looked up, his eyes running over his friends, accepting Neville's encouraging smile, seeing Seamus's lazy but undeniably territorial arm on Ron's shoulder. He grinned again.

"Oh yeah, and what about you two?" he asked, reaching out for something, anything to get his mind off Malfoy. At this Neville and Dean glanced curiously over at Ron and Seamus, who looked back at them, mild defiance in their eyes.

"Yeah," said Seamus. "I can't really remember what happened last night either, but whatever did, it's not as surprising as you and Malfoy. God, Harry, I thought you'd choose better," he teased gently.

Harry threw his pillow at him. Upon the shift in positions he realized with a sickening jolt that the sheets around his nether regions were covered in a vaguely familiar sticky substance; throwing back his head, holding his palms to the heavens, he mouthed, "Why?" before groaning and announcing, "I'm gonna need to wash my sheets."

Neville turned red; the rest of the boys laughed and Ron said, "Me too. I dunno, I don't like this. Chores on a Saturday."

"I'd take homework over this any day," Harry said sourly.

**xxx**

Harry and Ron soaked their sheets in water and soap; they were too lazy (and reluctant, in case anyone noticed _why_ the sheets needed to be washed) to take them to the laundry room and they weren't satisfied with using magic, being unsure that it would completely rid the material of…er…evidence. They left the sheets to steep in separate bathtubs while they went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As they entered the huge, high-ceilinged room, today reflecting a pure, cloudless aquamarine sky, Harry saw Draco slipping into the seat next to Pansy Parkinson over at the Slytherin table. His hair was gel-free again today, soft and satin-sleek hanging around his eyes, which met Harry's as he watched him. They stared at each other for a moment, expressionless. Then, abruptly, both turned determinedly away, Harry focusing on Hermione, Draco leaning over closer to talk to his friends. When he and Ron reached Hermione Harry took the seat opposite her. He knew if he sat facing Malfoy he'd look at him automatically, and that wouldn't help his plan to keep his thoughts as far as possible from the blonde Slytherin.

"Hello, boys," Hermione sang as they settled in, pulling dishes of steaming food within their reach. "Sleep well?"

Ron snorted into his goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry glared at him before saying resignedly, "Well, I can't remember much, but from what I've figured out this morning, no."

Hermione frowned, watching him. Harry looked away from her scrutiny and instead devoted himself to the plate of food in front of him. When he'd been silent for a good thirty seconds, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "_Well_? Aren't you going to elaborate?"

Harry couldn't look at her. "No."

"Ron?"

He glanced helplessly at Harry, who gave a short, jerky nod before closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his forehead. He couldn't get away.

"Er," said Ron. "Well, when he woke up this morning, Malfoy was sort of in bed with him."

"WHAT?" Hermione screeched, half-rising from her chair as Harry began pounding his head repeatedly upon the tabletop; Ron seized him by the neck of his robes and pulled him up gently before letting go and patting him on the shoulder. Harry gave him a feeble smile of thanks, then turned to Hermione, ready to receive a severe reprimand that he knew he deserved completely. But instead of firing up to yell at him, Hermione was sitting rigidly in her chair, eyes huge with mirth, both hands pressed over her mouth, shaking with suppressed laughter. As Harry and Ron stared incredulously at her, she burst out in a fit of hysteria.

"I'm sorry, but that is just too funny," she said when she had finished. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Never would have thought, in a million years, that this would happen."

"Yeah, we're all in shock, Hermione," Harry said heatedly, keeping his voice as low as he dared. "But in case you didn't notice, we've got a serious situation on our hands here. This is not funny. Losing my virginity to DRACO MALFOY was _not_ on the agenda last night. Forget last night. _Ever_."

Ron snorted again, but managed to stifle his laughter; looking at Harry, who was mutinous and fuming beside him, he said, "Okay, okay, it's not funny. But maybe he'll leave us alone now, you reckon? I mean, neither of you are going to want to look each other in the eye for weeks, let alone jump down each other's throats all the time. Snape can't dock so many points from you if you're not fighting with Malfoy all the time."

"I s'pose," said Harry darkly, as Seamus came walking into the room. He spotted Ron and made quickly for their table, grinning.

"Hey," he said, sitting down next to Ron. "Harry, you might want to rethink the whole 'Malfoy-being-sugar-high-too' assumption. He keeps looking over here. Thinks you're looking hot today, is my guess."

Harry threw Seamus a dark look; Hermione burst into uncontrollable giggles again. "I expect he's telling all his little mates some story about how I kidnapped him and forced him to be my sex slave for the night."

They all laughed appreciatively and Ron said, "Yeah, cause nothing's ever his fault."

"Of course not." Seamus tousled Ron's hair affectionately and Ron's ears turned red, but he was smiling as he took a swig of pumpkin juice. "You done with all your homework, Freckles?"

Harry fought to keep a straight face as Hermione glanced interestedly over at them, her eyes sharp, omniscient, calculating. After a moment she turned to Harry and mouthed, "Freckles?"

Harry shrugged imperceptibly.

"Yeah, I am," Ron was saying. "You?"

"Nah…got Snape's essay to finish…" Seamus replied moodily. "Actually, I should go finish that when I'm done. I don't want to be up late again tonight."

"Wow, responsible," Hermione said, grinning. "Impressive, Seamus."

"Thanks, Granger," Seamus said, flashing her a grin. "Guess you're rubbing off on me."

She beamed.

When Seamus left, there was a rather uncomfortable silence, Ron picking at the remnants of his food, Harry and Hermione fighting with their eyes about who should ask him. Hermione won, so Harry turned to the redhead and asked, "So…you and Seamus, huh? For real? Not just a one-night thing?"

"Yeah," said Ron, fighting a grin, losing. "Weird, huh?"

"Not really, considering," said Harry. "I just didn't know you were into guys."

"Me neither," said Ron. "But life happens."

And with those words, the subject was closed.

**xxx**

It turned out that Ron's theory about Malfoy avoiding Harry was incorrect. They managed to dodge confrontation that day, but the following afternoon, on the way to double Potions, they ran into each other. Harry was alone; he'd had to double back after lunch to fetch his Potions book from the common room. Upon sighting Harry, Malfoy's lips (Harry tried not to think about what those lips had undoubtedly done to him) curled up in an unpleasant smile.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, as Crabbe and Goyle came to flank him on either side. "Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry said evenly, meeting his enemy's silver gaze.

"Looking forward to losing more points for your house today?" Malfoy asked. "You can't do anything right in Potions, Potter…_dreadful_, your work is, and that temper too…Professor Snape is quite right to take points off. You've got to learn somehow."

"You're right, I do," Harry snarled. "Because we can't all get by on favoritism like you…I've seen your work as well, Malfoy, and it's by no means awe-inspiring. You're lucky Snape takes care of his House so well, stepping in where he needs to and all, otherwise I expect you'd be failing everything."

"You think so, do you?" Malfoy hissed angrily. "Well let me tell you something, Potter – "

But he never got the chance to tell Harry what was on his mind. Professor McGonagall happened to be passing; she didn't even stop as she called briskly over her shoulder in her commanding voice, "You don't want to finish that sentence, Malfoy. Run along, all of you."

Harry and Draco glared resentfully at each other, but they could no more continue their verbal combat now than Apparate outside of Hogwarts. So, forcing himself to remain calm, Harry moved forward and pushed roughly past the three Slytherins, his shoulder colliding with Malfoy's as he did so. The contact knocked Draco's hand from the pocket of his robes and his fingers grazed Harry's wrist accidentally.

The electrical charge that passed between them in that little brush of skin was so great Harry was forced to stop in his tracks to recollect himself; beside him, he heard Malfoy give a sharp intake of breath and felt him shudder. Their eyes met for the umpteenth time in the past couple of days, but there was no trace of hatred now, only profound and sincere surprise. Another staring match ensued. Then they both looked hurriedly away and took off in opposite directions. Draco was halfway to the Great Hall before he realized he was heading the wrong way.

Cursing mutinously to himself under his breath, he spun on his heel and strode off in the right way, towards the dungeon. Crabbe and Goyle were still standing stupidly in the same spot he'd left them, but they followed as he stormed past, stopping for nothing, lost in his own little world. He wasn't sure what had just happened between him and Potter, but whatever it was, it couldn't have been anything good.

The words "impending doom" came to mind.

(A/N): Phew. Yeah. So that's chapter two, hope it's not too bad! More Draco-and-Harrys to those who review!


	3. Impending Doom

(A/N): Well, I'm back again:waves: And I am so hyper. Oh my gosh. I've been watching tennis and I've got time on my hands right now, so I'm getting down to business. WOOT!

To all my reviewers: Once again, I love you guys! Chocolate-covered Draco-and-Harrys all around! You guys rock!!!

Note to manini: Your review made me crack up. :gives you a Draco with chocolate sauce, lots of whipped cream, and strawberries: I'm hurrying up! I promise! Happy New Year to you as well!

Right. :dims lights again: Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you...

Impending Doom

The words blurred on the page in front of Harry as he attempted to force himself to focus, by means of telling himself that if he did not learn the material now, he would lose precious Quidditch training time to studying time. Another motive was the undeniable fact that when he stayed up late to finish homework, he tended to slip off into daydreams, and lately, ninety-nine point nine percent of those daydreams ended up having something to do with Draco Malfoy. Thinking about the blond Slytherin was not particularly how Harry wanted to spend his nights, so with that thought in mind, he redoubled his efforts and squinted down at the thick book, determined to absorb at least something from this Transfiguration class.

_In order to perform this complex spell, one must first focus completely on the task at hand..._

But before he could read any further than that, Professor McGonagall's sharp, clear voice rang out in the silence of the classroom, breaking the peace abruptly.

"You should all be done reading by now," she said briskly. "Mr. Weasley, if you would kindly come up here and pass out these mice for me..."

"She's gotten more of those bloody rodents, I see," Ron muttered bitterly out of the corner of his mouth to Harry as he pushed back his chair; it was apparent that Ron was still resentful about the trouble he'd had with turning mice into plates last week. The fact that he and Seamus were now – er – _involved_ had changed nothing about their seating arrangements in any of their classes; Seamus still sat with Dean and Ron had kept his place between Harry and Hermione.

Harry slammed his copy of _Everything You Need to Know About O.W.L. Level Transfiguration And More_, swearing under his breath, and Hermione looked over at him in mild surprise.

"Harry," she said, kindly but firmly. "I know you're upset about Malfoy, but you've got to let it go, at least for now. This stuff is bound to come up in our O.W.L.s and you need to learn it. Trust me, it'll help take your mind off things."

It was Harry's turn to be surprised.

"How'd you know I'm thinking about Malfoy?"

"Well, no offense, but it's a little obvious," Hermione said gently, taking two mice from the box Ron was proffering to her and setting them on the desk the three of them were sharing. "Not to everyone," she added hastily, interpreting Harry's panic-stricken expression correctly. "But I know you. It's not very difficult for me to guess what's going on in your head."

"This lesson is a continuation of last week's class," McGonagall said from the front of the class. "I will be coming around to check on each of you. Those that did poorly in the previous lesson – " and here she fixed Harry, Ron, Neville, and several other students with her piercing stare " – I expect to see some improvement, or there will be extra homework for you. Begin."

"She's good, McGonagall is," Ron said, sinking down into his chair again, trapping his small white mouse in his cupped palms.

"I know," said Harry wearily, glancing down at his desk. His eyes fell on his open notebook, upon which he had hastily scribbled a few untidy, rather unhelpful notes, and his heart sank at what he saw. Ron spotted the problem at the exact same time and, laughing softly, drew Harry's notebook closer to him so as to see it better.

"Uh," he said. "Harry, the incantation for the spell is '_rereverto_', not 'Draco Malfoy'."

Even Hermione, who was usually so stoic and composed in class, had to giggle; she managed to mask it with a hacking cough halfway through, but Harry wasn't fooled. All three of them bent their heads as though absorbed in their work as McGonagall turned briefly in their direction, then Ron whispered as she looked away, keeping his eyes locked on his mouse, "Be careful, Harry, or people are going to start thinking you have a crush."

Furious with himself, the carelessness with which he had let himself go, Harry scratched the name out, corrected it, shook his head violently. "Shut up, Ron," he growled, but only half-meant it. Slamming his notebook shut, he bent low over his mouse, all business now, intent on forcing all thought of Malfoy from his too-open mind.

He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't afford it. But even as the thought crossed his mind he felt his hand tingle of its own will, the phantom touch of Draco's fingers still hot on his skin.

He finished the class with only six more thoughts of Malfoy (an excellent number, compared with his usual average of seventy-five per class), each followed by a strong self-reminder that he hated and despised Malfoy, that they were and always would be worst enemies. This tactic worked; he made improvements with the spell and managed to convince himself that he did, in fact, hate Malfoy, and everything was exactly the same as it had been before The Sugar Incident. He was in this confident mindset as he, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Hermione walked in a tightly-knit group towards the Great Hall for lunch, and he fully intended to make it last.

It didn't. The instant they crossed the threshold into the enormous room, Harry found Malfoy's pure, storm-gray eyes with his own and all of his hard-earned, determined resolve faded away, slowly, like twilight merging into dawn.

**xxx**

The moment Harry stepped into the Great Hall, Draco sensed him; automatically he raised his head to search for him, then, after exchanging the usual confused stare with him, he realized what he was doing and quickly ducked his head to hide his frustration.

"What is this, Potter radar?" he growled under his breath.

"What was that?" Blaise Zabini, slouching on the bench to the left of Draco, looked at him inquisitively. "I caught Potter's name in that dark muttering of yours and you know I love to hear people singing insults about him."

"Well, it's a good year for that," Pansy said, a note of triumphant, sadistic pleasure in her voice. "Oh, _do _go on, Dray. You come up with simply the _best _derogatory comments about the _Boy Who Lived_."

Her disrespectful, mocking tone drew grins from the others; Draco forced a sneer onto his face and said, with as much contempt as he could muster, "I was just thinking, I'm amazed Potter and his friends still have to eat with the rest of the school. I'm surprised they don't have their own private lunchroom to keep them away from us _commoners_. I mean, the way Dumbledore treats him, you'd think he was a god. It's ridiculous."

His friends gave appreciative laughs; Pansy simpered, "I know, it's sickening. They'll probably name an award after him, for people who have a compulsive need to play the hero, or tell absurd tales for the sole purpose of getting attention for themselves."

As she said this she looked anxiously at Draco for his approval. He grinned at he so she'd look away, and she did, but only for a moment; before he could sink back into his thoughts (which had way too much to do with Harry Potter, and not in the scornful tone his friends had been keeping up), she had her hand possessively on his arm and was asking, "So where were you Saturday night, Dray? I thought we were going to hang out."

Saturday night. Oh, god. He'd been avoiding the subject in the hopes that his friends would leave it alone, which they had done – until now.

Draco kept his face as blank as possible while everything he'd imagined had happened between Potter and himself came flooding back in one vivid rush. He dug his fingernails into his palms, creating half-moons of pain, distracting him from the clear image in his mind of Harry licking a trail down his stomach. "Er," he said aloud. "I was...walking around, I was restless."

"And after curfew?" Pansy asked skeptically.

"Yeah, you weren't back all night," Goyle put in, looking up from his third plate of treacle pudding. It was the first thing he'd said all afternoon, and what incredible timing he had.

_Oh, _now_ he decides to talk_, Draco thought, refraining from shooting a venomous death-glare at his fellow Slytherin. "I know," he said. "I went to the kitchen to get some more sugar. I don't remember much after that. Woke up in the Room of Requirement."

"You didn't get caught, did you?" Pansy asked, worried. She tightened her grip on his arm and Draco realized with a quick thrill of dread that her touch no longer sent chills racing the length of his spine.

"No," he said. "I didn't, thank God. Who know what would have happened if I had. Not all of us have got special treatment to fall back on."

He said it automatically, but found with a dull sense of surprise that he didn't mean it. However, it satisfied his companions, and Blaise stood up with a pleased expression on his thin face.

"Well, I've got to get to Charms," he said. "I'll see you later."

"Me, too," said Pansy, and, after squeezing Draco's hand, left with Blaise. Crabbe and Goyle looked over at the blond for instructions.

"Do whatever you want," he told them, annoyed. "I've got a free period, I'm going to wander around."

And he walked away, making sure he kept his eyes focused straight ahead so as not to spontaneously lose control of them and find his gaze wandering over to the Gryffindor table. This was getting a little ridiculous. It was almost as though he and Potter were playing the crush game, you-look-at-me, I-look-at-you, you-insult-me, I-insult-you, and all that jazz. But that couldn't be right. There was no way he, Draco, was getting involved with another guy, let alone Harry Potter. It was just not going to happen.

That was when the flashback hit him.

_The room was dark, but Draco could see Harry clearly, lying on top of him on the bed, his emerald eyes half-closed and hazy with arousal and sugar. They kissed, open-mouthed and lusty, then Harry bent low to attach his mouth to Draco's bared throat, and he cried out..._

Then the moment passed, and Draco was standing in the hallway again, leaning up against the wall for support. He knew that what he had just remembered was real, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it wasn't just one of the fantasies that had kept him up late at night over the past couple of days. It was what had actually happened, and before he could stop himself he was thinking, _Reality is so much better than fantasy_.

It hit him hard, what he'd just thought, and he pressed his palms to his forehead, trying to block it out. "No. Oh, no. This is not happening. I will not let this happen. Okay, don't panic, don't panic. It's all in your head."

But he could still feel the ghost of Harry's skin on his fingertips, and the pleasant shock he'd felt when they'd touched was as fresh in his mind as though it had happened an instant ago.

**xxx**

After dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged up to the common room to get started on their homework. Harry was too wrapped up in his own warring thoughts (_the color of Malfoy's eyes is nice_ ensued by _no way, don't you dare start to think like that, that's sick_) to notice Hermione watching him.

She couldn't help but feel, even after everything Malfoy had said and done to them, that there was something there between he and Harry. She hadn't really noticed it before, but now, when it was all Harry could do to stop thinking about the blond Slytherin, she saw what she hadn't before: a spark. It was obvious to her in the way Harry was constantly reminding himself to forget about what had taken place, in the way he told himself not to look at Malfoy but found his eyes wandering in Draco's direction anyway, that the potential for a relationship was there.

Harry looked up then and saw her looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, guiltily. "I was just – er – "

"Stop worrying about me," he said, giving her a genuine grin. "I'm fine. I'm just a little shaken up, that's all."

"Okay," Hermione replied, glad that he had taken her stare to be one of only worry. "I'm glad you're fine."

They reached the portrait; Ron opened his mouth to recite the password, but before he could do so, it opened, and a hand poked out to drag him in. Harry could hear the exclamation of, "Freckles!" and didn't need to look to see that the hand belonged to Seamus.

He and Hermione snorted into their palms, determinedly avoiding each other's gazes, and he was about to climb in after Ron when a drawling voice called his name.

"Hey – Potter!"

Harry jumped, surprised, for he knew that voice very well. He gestured to Hermione to go ahead; she did, and after the portrait had been safely shut, he turned to face Malfoy, who was standing tentatively before him, arms crossed, a look of bored haughtiness on his face. When Harry met his gaze he knew it was just a front: Malfoy's eyes were nervous and he could not hold Harry's stare for long, he kept looking around in darting glances. Right at that moment Harry identified with his archenemy more than he ever had in his life.

"Can we talk?" Malfoy asked.

"Er – yeah, I s'pose," Harry said.

"Okay," said Malfoy simply, and he turned, checking to make sure Harry was following him before starting off towards the prefect's bathroom. It was unoccupied, and to ensure that it stayed that way, Malfoy sealed it with a charm before leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

"So," said Harry, after a moment of silence.

"So," said Malfoy. "Look...about what happened on Saturday..."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Forget it. It's no big deal."

Draco relaxed visibly, his eyes wandering up to stare into Harry's again. "Okay. Because it's awkward and I'm sick of it. I liked it much better when we just hated each other."

Harry grinned despite himself.

"Me too," he admitted. "It makes life much easier."

"I know." Malfoy hesitated, then stuck out his hand. "Enemies?"

"Enemies," Harry said gratefully, shaking it, ignoring the warmth that ebbed and flowed into his body from the contact. But he found that as they walked away from each other without another word, he had stopped brooding upon Saturday night. Climbing through the portrait hole, finishing his homework, talking and laughing with his friends, he thought that there was a good chance he might actually be able to forget what had happened – at least, a bigger chance than there had been three hours ago.

(A/N): Don't worry, they don't forget. They don't forget at all. I'm just giving them a bit of reprieve before the real stuff starts to happen...hehehe. Yet more chocolate-and-whipped-cream-covered Draco-and-Harrys to those who review!


	4. Warning Signs

(A/N): Wow. :feels loved: I heart reviews. :tosses chocolate-covered, whipped-cream-drenched Draco-and-Harrys to all her reviewers: I love you guys!!! You rock my face!

:dances:

Yeah, so anyway. Sorry it took me so long. :grin:waves to manini: You lucky girl. Draco IS very sexy, isn't he? Harry thinks so too, he just only :sort of: knows it right now. But that will change. Oh, yes. :pets thought bunnies:

Also, to mad.hot.love:hands chocolate-and-whipped-cream covered Draco: Enjoy! Oh, and about that post...:evil grin: perhaps. Yes, perhaps.

And I'm thinking...more sugar-high-ness. Just not yet. Soon. Very soon. :is insane:

:drum roll: Here we go again! Oh, and there's a bit of...ahem...light sexual situations in this chapter. Heh.

Warning Signs

_They were an unrivaled union, a hot tangle of long limbs atop Harry's still-made bed. The curtains had been drawn back a little, shoved aside as one of them had kicked out or shifted during their wild play; anyone could see if they had truly wanted to, but Harry and Draco were far from caring. All that mattered was the perfect sensation of skin on skin, lips on lips, and the rhyme of their heartbeats together as they gripped each other's shoulders and tried to keep the moans and howls and wails and whimpers to a minimum octave. Harry's mouth was hot on Draco's shoulder and he fit with him almost too flawlessly, his thighs curled around the blond's hips, Draco moving between his legs, his fingers wound with Harry's, head dropped back and eyes closed in sheer ecstasy._

_Finally the constant, beautiful friction took its toll. Draco felt his lower stomach tingle, cried out into Harry's mouth as he spilled all he had deep inside the raven-haired boy..._

Draco awoke with a start, his heart beating a violent drum in his chest, his breath coming in heavy, labored rasps. His palms were slick-sweaty as he felt around to check for telltale stickiness under the covers; thankfully, mercifully, there was none, but almost as soon as that victory was realized he became aware of the dull, persistent throbbing between his thighs. Groaning inwardly, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and checked his watch: three a.m. Though the initial shock and revulsion he'd felt upon awakening was still fresh, he knew he had to get some more sleep or he'd be dead the next day. He hadn't gotten a decent eight hours since Saturday night.

"Okay," he said to himself. "Just ignore it, it'll go away."

Draco lay back down, determined to keep Harry from his mind, but the fact that he was not supposed to think of Harry made his thoughts wander automatically to his nemesis, which made him recall his dream, which completely defeated the purpose of "just ignoring it". After fifteen agonizing minutes of clenching and un-clenching his fists, shifting from one uncomfortable position to the next, and trying in vain not to get even more turned on every time he thought of the dream, he gave up. Reaching down beneath the blankets, he began to stroke himself gently, and when he finally came,gripping the sheets hard in his free hand and curling his toes tight under the blankets, it was Harry's name that he gasped into his pillow. After he realized it he groaned out loud.

"Oh, gods," he growled. "This. Is. Not. Happening. No. I take it back, I take it back...oh, gods..."

It was a long time before he finally managed to drift off again, and when he did, he dreamed of nothing at all.

**xxx**

Things were not looking good.

Harry had a full day ahead, a day in which he had several classes that he had not done his homework for. The level of work he was having to contend with was slowly, consistently rising to a panic-inducing difficulty – and that was just the classes. The homework was close to, if not matching, impossible, especially because he couldn't seem to keep his thoughts focused on what he was supposed to be doing. The normal pattern in his brain of late was: Quidditch, Malfoy, homework, Malfoy, Voldemort, Malfoy, and oh yeah,what he had undoubtedly _done_ with Malfoy. The blank spot in his memory that should have told him what had happened that night was slowly filling itself in; Harry was getting bits and pieces of flashbacks every day. They usually came to him at the most unfortunate of times: for example, one such particularly vivid image presented itself to him quite suddenly in the middle of Charms class, causing Harry to lose concentration and let the china teacup he was supposed to be levitating crash to the ground.

Now he was sitting on the soft patch of grass outside Hagrid's hut, furiously scratching out some last-minute additions to the homework Grubbly-Plank had given them the previous class. Ron was beside him doing the same, muttering harsh incoherence under his breath while Seamus stood close next to him, talking in loud tones with Dean about his hatred for Snape. Hermione was kneeling behind them, watching them slave away.

"This is a pain in the arse," Ron groused as he scrawled his name at the top of his parchment and began to roll it up.

Hermione laughed. "If you had only spent last night finishing your work instead of – ahem – fooling around."

She shot a surreptitious glance at Seamus.

"Don't start, Hermione," Harry warned. "I'm just as behind as Ron and _I_ haven't been screwing around. It's a ridiculous load, even _you've_ got to admit we've never had this much before."

"Yes, but if you'd only _commit_ yourselves to it a bit more," Hermione wheedled. "Start your homework in class the way I do..."

"No offense, Hermione, but only geeks do their assignments in class," Ron said, hauling himself to his feet. "We've got better things to do, right, Harry?"

"Absolutely," Harry responded, standing up as well as he secured a rubber band around his tightly rolled parchment.

"Oh?" Hermione asked, skeptical, folding her arms across her chest in an alarmingly accurate impression of Professor McGonagall. "And what, may I ask, would that be?"

"Hang-man, of course," Harry replied seriously, and Ron looked the other way, keeping a determinedly straight face as he perched his elbow on Seamus's shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"_Honestly_," she said. Then, "Oh, great, look who it is."

For the Slytherins had appeared across the lawn, striding towards Hagrid's hut in their usual pack. Harry's eyes found Draco's instantly, reflexively, and he saw Pansy Parkinson link her arm with the blonde's. A sharp pang of – no, it couldn't be, but it was – jealousy hit Harry hard, jerking him to his senses as quickly as though a bell had gonged in his ear. He looked away, a little scared now, and when he glanced back he saw Malfoy yank out of Pansy's grasp, shaking his head and tossing a few words, too far away for Harry to catch, over his shoulder as he quickened his pace. His cloud-gray stare fixed on Harry's own brilliantly green eyes, but there was no malice there; in fact, Harry was startled to find that his expression was unfathomable again. He was not used to there not being an icy chill in Malfoy's eyes when he looked at him.

Finally, Harry tore himself away from the riveting stare match, thoroughly shaken. He was not jealous of Pansy. He wasn't. That was absurd. As absurd as...

"As absurd as constantly thinking about Draco Malfoy," Harry groaned to himself with a sinking heart. He closed his eyes and, when he opened them saw Hermione watching him with a rather frightening shrewdness, brow furrowed, calculating. He attempted a look of polite innocence that he knew deep down fooled no one.

"Harry," she said softly, so no one else could hear. "We need to talk after the lesson."

"Okay," he muttered, helpless, knowing _exactly_ what she was getting at. If Hermione was having suspicions, there was no hope for him. None whatsoever.

**xxx**

Draco managed to confine his thoughts (well, mostly) to the Care of Magical Creatures lesson that day, but it was difficult. To ensure that he kept his eyes on his work he faced away from Harry while they fed their nifflers various slimy things and listened to Grubbly-Plank drone on about O.W.L.s. At the end of class, however, he couldn't stop himself from glancing over at the Gryffindor, who looked back, just as powerless. As Draco was passing Harry's table, Ernie MacMillan bumped into him as he shoved through the crowd, and Draco staggered sideways into Harry, who caught him automatically, not knowing who he was holding. When he saw that it was Draco he released him immediately and they exchanged a half-hearted sneer before Draco moved on, letting Crabbe and Goyle come up to flank him as usual as he did. Every part of him was aware of the warmth of Harry's hands that had soaked through his robes straight onto his skin and he knew he would be feeling that touch for a long, long time.

**xxx**

Hermione cornered Harry as they were walking back up to the castle. Throwing some excuse at Ron about needing to discuss Transfiguration (he bought it; he was too busy talking to Seamus to pay them much attention anyway) over her shoulder, she took him aside just outside the entrance to the great castle, leading him around some bushes where they could speak in private.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly.

Harry shoved his hands deep inside his pockets, hedging. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied obstinately.

"Harry, come on. Don't give me that rubbish," Hermione said, still in that kind way, as though she knew how porcelain-fragile Harry was these days. "I see you and Malfoy watching each other. You're distracted all the time, you haven't even begun to get over it, and if it was just the sugar you'd have shaken it off already. Tell me the truth."

Harry sighed.

"Honestly, Hermione?" he asked, quiet. "I don't know. I keep telling myself to forget but I _can't_. I can't stop thinking about what happened."

Hermione took that the way she should have, to mean _I can't stop thinking about Malfoy_. "Well," she said. "It appears that you're not alone in that, at least. But Harry, maybe – if there's something there – and I'm not saying there definitely is, obviously, but maybe it's not such a bad thing. Maybe it'll, you know, bridge the gap. Help with school union, like the Sorting Hat said."

Harry looked over into her eyes and found that he had no reply.

**xxx**

After supper Harry trooped up to the common room with the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindors, intent on making some headway on his homework. Ron, Seamus, and Dean started out doing the same (Hermione had finished long ago), but by eleven-thirty they'd abandoned their stacks of books for the sugar stash Dean had been keeping in his trunk from last Hogsmeade visit. Harry made it to midnight, then went over to join his friends, though he declined the large and extremely tempting sugar quill Seamus tried to hand him. He ripped his longing gaze from the pile of Bertie Bott's at Hermione's feet, shoving down the urge, forcing himself to remember what had happened last time he'd gone on a sugar binge.

Soon enough he found that it was highly amusing to be normal when everyone else around you was sugar high. Hermione was back to loving Quidditch and she and Dean were involved in a spirited debate about which was better: beating Slytherin in the championship match six years in a row or going to see the World Cup live. Ron, meanwhile, was in top form; he went from wondering aloud whether or not zebras liked grilled cheese sandwiches to remarking earnestly that he thought Snape looked like Harry's Aunt Petunia on his good days.

"He was round at my house once to take me back to the Burrow," Harry explained between laughs to Seamus, who was practically sobbing from sugar-induced mirth. "That's how he knows what my aunt looks likes."

The hyper rush had also made Ron and Seamus a bit more reckless. They held hands the whole time, fingers interlocked together on Ron's thigh, and occasionally they'd stop everything they were doing to kiss messily and openly, right there in front of everyone. Nobody minded. Hermione and Dean were not about to be distracted from their good-natured argument for a little thing like snogging and Harry was feeling quite at peace with everything and everyone, having successfully kept Draco Malfoy from his mind for the past two and a half hours.

"All right, everybody," said Dean a half hour later. "I have an extremely important announcement to make before I go to bed. And that is: it's better to beat Slytherin six years in a row than to go and see the World Cup. Goodnight."

Harry laughed at his abruptness, then stood up himself; he wanted to take advantage of this lapse in Draco-obsessing to get a good night's sleep.

"I'm off to bed, guys, goodnight," he said, and they all grinned at him.

"See you in the morning," Seamus said.

"Night, Harry," Hermione called.

"Sleep tight, Harry!" Ron sang. "And don't forget: crayons are _cool_."

Harry snorted. "Ron's words of wisdom," he said with a grin, and walked over to the stairs to ascend to his dormitory. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed, peacefully, glad for a reprieve.

_He was in his bed, lying entwined with Draco, their fingers locked above his head, his wrists pinned, powerless as they writhed and moved together. Draco's breath was hot in his ear, causing him to shiver and groan softly, feeling the other boy inside him, on top of him. He freed one hand to thread his fingers in Draco's silky blond hair as the Slytherin brought his mouth to Harry's in a fierce kiss, Draco's moan pouring into Harry's throat. Harry felt his lower stomach twinge..._

He sat up gasping, sweating, half-scared the dream was real. He felt around until he was quite sure he was alone in the bed, then lay back down, realizing with a jolt that he was hard. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Balling his hands into fists, he pressed his knees together and thought of Millicent Bulstrode until the dull pounding between his legs subsided. Then he fell back off into an uneasy sleep.

(A/N):grin: Some action to tide you over until the _real_ stuff begins. Yet more Draco-and-Harrys to my lovely reviewers!


	5. Confrontation

(A/N): Good God, it has been so long since I've had any thought bunnies for this story. I was honestly beginning to think it was going to be left unfinished!

BUT!

Thanks to a lovely song by The Whomping Willows, called "In Which Draco and Harry Secretly Want To Make Out" (I'm not joking. It's a real song. I love Wizard Rock lol), my fuzzy little plot bunnies have returned!

Okay, so! I want to thank all my reviewers and APOLOGIZE for my tremendous absence. : throws triple doses of chocolate-covered Draco-and-Harrys to her reviewers : You guys are totally awesome, and I am SO sorry for the ridiculous delay. No more!

Manini, you're still special: waves :

Anyway, FINALLY, here we go. Chapter 5.

Confrontation

"It's going to happen, isn't it," Harry said softly to Hermione.

It was Friday afternoon. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in the common room for their final break of the day, and Harry, who had been silent for much of the hour, had suddenly voiced his almost-question with misery in his voice and a dull gloss over his eyes as he raised them to Hermione's face. She knew then that his thoughts had been occupied with Malfoy.

"I don't know," she said gently, truthfully. "Do you want it to?"

"Hermione, that was a stupid question," Ron said complacently, looking as though he realized that this was probably the first and only time he would get to say those words to her and relishing it.

"Sympathetic, Ron," snapped Hermione, throwing him a withering glance before returning her attention to Harry. When he was silent she prompted him gently by touching his arm.

"I don't know," he told her, shaking his head. "Yes and no. Every five seconds I'm weighing the pros and cons and playing out every possible scenario that could happen. It's complicated."

"Must be," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Well, my best piece of advice would be to wait. Make sure you know what you want before you do anything rash. And who knows, maybe he'll come to you first. I think everyone in the Great Hall has noticed how he stares at you during breakfast."

Ron snorted; even Harry had to grin at that one. He hated himself for the schoolgirl flush that blossomed slowly across his face, but he knew she was right: the burn of Draco's gaze was still fresh, everywhere on him. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Suppose you're right. What've we got next?"

"Um." Ron grinned sheepishly at him. "A class?"

"Charms," Hermione answered over him, rolling her eyes. She checked her watch. "Speaking of, we should get our things together. It's a quarter till."

Groaning, Harry heaved himself off the comfortable, squashy armchair, pulled Ron up by one of his skinny wrists. "My stuff's in our dorm," he told Hermione by way of explanation. "And I know for a fact Ron's is, too. I saw you trying to hide your book this morning," he added to the redhead, who immediately turned a luminescent scarlet.

"I – it wasn't me. I lost the book," he excused himself lamely, then crumpled under Hermione's blaze of a stare. "Okay, okay, I'm going to get it."

Satisfied, Hermione leaned down to check the bag at her feet for her notes and Charms book. When she found them she settled them at the top of her pack for easier access, then sat back to wait on the boys, her thoughts on Harry. He had tried to forget about what had happened, she knew, but clearly, his attempts weren't working. She didn't understand why he couldn't admit to himself what was so glaringly obvious to the rest of them: that he and Draco had something for each other, and more than just mad lust by the looks of it.

**XXX**

They arrived at Charms five minutes early; the room was only half-full, and Professor Flitwick was over in a corner, preparing his notes. Much to Harry's displeasure Malfoy was perched on a seat in the front row, gazing unfathomably over at him and twirling his wand with deft ease between his fingers.

Ron glanced up and caught the exchange of eye contact between Harry and Malfoy. Sensing Harry's unease, he deliberately stepped in front of him, blocking Draco's view, and said calmly, "Let's sit behind him, shall we? That way everyone in the room will notice if he tries to make googly eyes at you during class."

Harry snorted appreciatively and let himself be led around to the back of the room. As he slid into a seat and began arranging his things on his desk Hermione appeared at Ron's elbow, whispered, "Nicely done, Ronald," in a barely audible voice. Proud, Ron turned to thank her, but she had gone, taking the seat just to Harry's left.

With exactly thirty seconds to spare, Dean and Seamus came ambling into the classroom, laughing together about something. Quite unconcerned about their near miss, they slid into the seats in front of Harry and Ron, turned around, greeted them.

"Harry," Dean crooned, grinning. "Draco's staring at you."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," challenged Harry, rolling his emerald eyes. "It's routine and that, but it's getting sort of annoying, you know?"

Seamus, who had swapped winks with Ron upon sitting down, leaned over Harry's desk, his face alive with mischief. "Not going to end up in the Slytherin common room tomorrow morning, are you, Harry?"

Harry threw his quill at him; Seamus ducked, laughing, and swung around to face front again.

"All right, boys, that's quite enough," squeaked Professor Flitwick from the front of the class. "Now, today, we're going to be reviewing Summoning and Hovering Charms, so books away, if you please, and find yourselves a partner."

Harry and Ron swapped a grin. Both were adept at these two spells; not much energy would be wasted in class today, energy that could be spent enjoying their Friday evening.

"I love O.W.L. year Charms," Ron said as he and Harry stowed their books and rose from their seats. "All we've done so far is go over a load of stuff we already know."

"You love it now," Hermione said briskly, her eyes following Professor Flitwick's wand as he charmed the dozens of desks out of the way, positioning them neatly against the far wall. "But I've heard from _several_ sixth years that by the end of Christmas holidays this class is going to have more homework than Transfiguration. I can't wait, of course," she added, rolling up her sleeves.

Dean, Seamus, Ron, and Harry exchanged exasperated, but amused, looks. By now they were far too used to Hermione's extreme studiousness to really be shocked when she showed it in public. Only Ron looked as though he still had some disbelief left in him.

"Going to hit the sugar again tonight?" Dean asked quietly, watching Hermione stride off to find Neville, for whom she felt sorry: Neville almost never got asked to be someone's partner, and Hermione was one of the few people who did not become inconsolably vexed after several moments with him.

"Dunno, maybe," Seamus said thoughtfully, turning away from Professor Flitwick so the tiny man would think he was working. "Freckles?"

Dean and Harry chomped viciously on the insides of their cheeks in order to keep straight faces, but mercifully, Ron noticed nothing. Reaching into the pocket of his robes for his wand, he tilted his flaming head to the side, contemplating. "Possibly," he said at last, nodding. "Harry?"

"No, the proper question for Harry is: are you _ever_ going to hit the sugar again?" Dean chipped in, chuckling.

"For the tenth time," said Harry patiently, "no. That stuff is like alcohol to me, God knows why, but nothing good ever happens when I consume large amounts of sugar."

"You convinced Goyle to eat an Acid Pop when we were thirteen, remember?" Ron asked, staring off into space with a reverent, faraway look in his eyes. "That was brilliant, that was. And it wouldn't have happened if not for those four Chocolate Frogs you ate before break."

"Yeah, all right," admitted Harry, grinning as Seamus and Dean guffawed. "He had to spend two days in the hospital wing. Best forty-eight hours of third year."

"Boys," squeaked Professor Flitwick reprovingly from Seamus's side. As he was so tiny he was quite easy to miss when you weren't looking for him, and while they were talking they had overlooked the fact that he was standing there. "Get to work, now."

It was hard be afraid of such a lilliputian voice, but the fifth-years obeyed him in silence, Harry partnering Ron and Dean grabbing Seamus. The last thing they wanted to do was land themselves in detention on a promising Friday evening.

**XXX**

In general, when the class emerged from Charms, their bags slung over their shoulders and their wands stowed safely in the pockets of their robes, they were in quite a good mood. Ron and Harry were laughing about Crabbe's failed attempt to produce a Summoning Charm, which resulted in the book he was trying to will to himself losing heart halfway and dropping on Flitwick's head. It had earned him classroom cleanup duty and ten points from Slytherin for poor wandwork.

"Well, Malfoy's minus one bodyguard for dinner," Dean said happily.

"Now his view of Harry won't be blocked," Seamus said slyly, resting his arm on Ron's shoulder. He was right, Harry realized as his heart involuntarily missed a beat: Crabbe and Goyle usually sat across from Malfoy at the dinner table.

"Boys," Hermione said exasperatedly. "I know it's _terribly _difficult for you, but can we please talk about something _besides_ Malfoy and Harry for once? He's trying to forget what happened, you know."

"Right," said Dean, and he had the good graces to sound embarrassed. "Sorry, Harry."

"Me too," said Seamus reluctantly. "It's just - "

But the words failed him as he fell under the menacing laser of Hermione's warning glare.

Contrary to Hermione's beliefs, Harry was, if not amused, at least grateful for his friends' attempts to keep things lighthearted. If they had been discussing seriously how to make Harry and Draco realize they were madly in love with each other, that would have been a different story, but as all they were doing were making light jokes about them, it didn't bother him as much as it perhaps should have. He accepted their apologies with a little smile and a nod of his head and they separated from the queue to return to Gryffindor tower and deposit their bags before dinner.

As they were dumping stuff on their beds and throwing their bags on top of their trunks and generally just creating a mess for themselves to clean up later, Seamus and Ron engaged in an extremely random and unexpected snogging session. Harry's and Dean's eyes met and they vacated the room as quickly as possible, falling over each other laughing on their way down to the common room.

"It's going to take me a while to get used to that one," Dean said, shaking his dark head.

"Ages," Harry agreed, and then they couldn't speak for the hysterics that overcame them.

**XXX**

Draco was past the point of having to look to know that Harry had just walked into the Great Hall; the sense of him was enough. Instantly he felt his pulse begin to pound and his stomach gave a fierce twist. He kept his sleek blond head down to avoid automatically finding Harry's eyes.

"Get out of it," he muttered crossly to himself, but within two moments of his resolution not to look he found himself involuntarily searching for the jet-headed Gryffindor. When he found him his stomach dropped like a stone: Harry was already watching him, a guarded, indecipherable expression in his brilliant eyes, a slight frown creasing his brow.

Draco was ready and willing to play the stare game, and it appeared that Harry had no imminent intention of looking away either. They were just settling in for an evening of gazing uncertainly at each other when the Weasley twins sat down on the bench opposite Harry, blocking Draco's view and causing him to swear badly under his breath.

"What is it, Dray?" Pansy asked, leaning over to speak to him, her sleek, straight hair falling like a veil across her face. He glanced at her and for the first time it struck him how very pitch-black the color of her hair was – exactly like Harry's.

_Stop it_, he told himself firmly, then added aloud, "Nothing, Pans. Just banged my elbow off the table, that's all."

"Are you all right?" she asked immediately, insipid concern filling her eyes.

Ordinarily, Draco would have milked this opportunity; he loved attention and would do most anything for it, but tonight he just wasn't in the mood to be fawned over. "I'm fine," he said, and when she continued to look troubled he added firmly, "Really. Fine."

At last she turned away to speak to Millicent Bulstrode, who was slouching moodily on the bench across from her, and Draco took the opportunity to once again eye the Gryffindor table. Harry was paying him no attention; he was absorbed in conversation with a sandy-haired boy – Draco thought his name might be Flaherty, no, Finney, no..._Finnigan_, that was it – and busy finishing his dinner. He looked relaxed, comfortable, normal. For some reason, this bothered Draco on a very deep level, but he couldn't have said _why_, exactly – maybe because every time Harry was in a room lately he felt as though his stomach was a huge mass of knots and twists and he was always on edge. He hadn't been truly relaxed in days. What he couldn't possibly know was that Harry was feeling the exact same way – he was just much better at masking it.

Sudden and strong anger was making him agitated: anger that Harry was ignoring him, anger that he was upset that Harry was ignoring him, and a childish, unjustified anger that he couldn't get what he wanted: a stare match. Distracted as he was, he ate very little of his supper and only a bite of Pansy's custard for dessert. When Harry and his friends stood up to leave the room he pushed back violently from his bench, leaned low over Pansy to whisper in her ear: "Watch me make Potter's Friday night miserable."

"Ooh, Dray, whatever are you going to do?" she shrieked gleefully, but he had already started off. Quickly she roused Zabini, Millicent, and Goyle and they started after him, Goyle tripping over his enormous feet in his haste.

Draco wasn't sure where this rash vindictiveness was coming from; all he knew was that he was exasperated beyond all levels of sanity, resentful of the fact that he could not simply discard what had happened as a one-time thing, and, overpowering every other emotion currently seething inside of him, extremely sexually frustrated. He also knew that all these feelings centered around Harry, and at that moment in time all he could think of was getting to the source of his problems and letting him know what, precisely, he was doing to Draco. He wanted to know he wasn't the only one slowly succumbing to his inner lunatic because of this, wanted Harry to feel was he was feeling – and the only way he knew how to do so was to provoke him.

Shoving his way roughly through a crowd of fourth-year Ravenclaws who had gathered around the entrance to the Great Hall, he burst through the double doors, looked wildly left and right before spotting Harry's dark head retreating down the hall to his left.

"Hey – Potter!"

Freezing, Harry turned on the spot to look, knowing innately who was calling him: there was no mistaking that low, haughty, smirking voice. By instinct the group of Gryffindors he was with glanced back with him. When Ron saw who had hailed Harry his hand went automatically to the pocket of his robes where he kept his wand.

The jet-headed Gryffindor and the Slytherin with eyes like twin storms sized each other up for a moment, then:

"What?" Harry asked guardedly.

"Heard Umbridge gave you a new scar," Draco said, searching through the shelves in his memory at random for something, anything that might incite Harry to rage. "That true? Going to try to use it for sympathy, since that ugly thing on your head isn't getting the job done anymore?"

Harry's face was turning white with anger, but Hermione stepped up to his elbow and attempted to make calming eye contact with him, her head bent low and her voice earnest as she said, "Forget it, Harry. He's trying to make you do something you'll regret later."

"He's already done that, Hermione, remember?" Harry said furiously, shaking her off.

Draco's gray eyes narrowed and he took several steps closer to the other boy; Harry matched him, his frustration finally erupting, his blood boiling. If Draco wanted to duel this out he wasn't stopping him.

"It wasn't _only_ me," he said, harsh, fierce. "And if I remember right, I smacked into you on your way to the kitchen to get more sugar, which would mean that your sugar high was wearing off, which would _mean_ that you were semi-rational when we – when it – happened."

"It's true for both of us," Harry retorted, his luminescent eyes flashing. "You told me you were getting more sugar as well. But I was definitely not semi-rational. There's no way I would have even _spoken_ to you had I been in my right mind. _Avoided_ you, more like."

Draco glared venomously at him for a moment. Then he snapped, feeling quite ridiculous, "You touched me first!"

"You _kissed_ me first!" Harry spat.

"_You_ invited me back to your common room!" Draco snarled, triumphant, knowing Harry had no answer for that. Sure enough, Harry stopped, his jewel-bright eyes broadcasting his rage and vexation, and was silent.

Meanwhile, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Hermione, Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, and Goyle were all staring openmouthed at them; Hermione thought she might have found the childish argument funny had it not been for the utter seriousness of the matter. Passersby had stopped to see what the fuss was all about; it was rather like a playground fight, with people queuing up to spur the involved ones on.

"Ha," said Draco softly, and without so much as a thought Harry drew back and punched him bang on the nose.

Ron, Dean, and Seamus howled with delight, Hermione gasped and latched onto Harry's arm, speechless (he was glad of this – he didn't want a lecture now), and Pansy and Goyle surged forward to help Draco, but he pushed them back. Spitting blood, wiping it painfully from his streaming nose, he grabbed Harry's shoulder to hold him still and smashed his fist into the Gryffindor's face.

Harry felt his nose break; pain flowed freely from the wound and he staggered, floored by Malfoy's reaction. Dimly he realized that the crowd around them was breaking up and a very familiar and very unwelcome voice was saying, "What is this? What's going on?"

It was Snape, his heartless eyes sweeping over the scene, no doubt taking in only the damage done to his prize pupil. He bent over Malfoy, his lip curling, and said without looking at Harry, "Fighting, are we, Potter?"

"I'm not the only one," Harry said thickly, siphoning coppery blood from his upper lip with the sleeve of his robe.

But Snape, as usual, appeared deaf to Harry's arguments; he said, still leaning over Malfoy, "Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention, Potter. Other teachers may be lenient with the – Boy Who Lived – but I will not stand for for fighting in this school."

Ron, Dean, and Seamus burst out in an unintelligible stream of protests, but at that moment Professor McGonagall strode into the midst and added, quite as though she had been watching and listening from the sidelines the whole time, "And for Malfoy, Professor Snape?"

Snape's greasy face turned an ugly shade of blotchy magenta, but he was silent.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall. "As you seem capable only of punishing students that are not in your house, I shall temporarily take over your duties and subtract fifty points from Slytherin. And detention for you, Mr. Malfoy. Now, you two, follow me. We will go to the hospital wing, then to my office. We must set up a time for you to serve that is convenient to both of you."

Scowling viciously at each other, Harry and Draco followed her, stemming the waterfalls of blood that were coursing freely from their noses with their sleeves. As Harry passed Hermione she took out her wand and whispered a spell; the pain receded a bit and the torrent of scarlet fluid seemed to abate a bit. He gave her a lopsided smile of thanks before turning back to follow Professor McGonagall.

In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey mended both their noses easily, muttering the whole time under her breath about unnecessary violence and adolescents raging with hormones. Then, after a bit of gentle prompting from Professor McGonagall, she released them, and they began the long and awkward trek to McGonagall's office. Once inside, she shut the door firmly behind them and pushed them into the two chairs placed in front of her desk.

"Now," she said sternly, gazing at them with her guilt-inducing, unblinking stare. "Shall we set this detention for a later date, or would you rather get it over with?"

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance, one that clearly announced mutual malice, and said together, "Get it over with."

"Very well," said McGonagall briskly. "I trust you are both free tonight?"

They started to protest, but she silenced them with a single look. Both boys sighed.

"I am," Harry said.

"Me as well," Draco said resentfully.

"Right then," said Professor McGonagall. "Let's see...I think I'll have you two clean the Great Hall for me...it's due. You'll be allowed to use a bit of magic to scrub the walls, but I want the tables done by hand and the floors swept with brooms, understand?"

"Yes," the boys muttered sullenly, knowing better than to argue. Professor McGonagall was not one to contradict.

"I'll escort you down and make sure everyone stays out while you work," she said. "When you are finished, you shall come back to my office and inform me, and I will inspect your handiwork. If I am satisfied, you will be free to go; if not, you will resume cleaning tomorrow. We will set the time later if necessary."

And so saying, she beckoned them imperiously out the door.

Harry and Draco followed, walking side-by-side and matching each other's strides. This was the worst possible way either of them could think to spend their Friday evening; Harry would rather have been force-fed sweets stuffed with sugar and suffered the consequences than spend the night cooped up with Malfoy in the Great Hall.

Draco was feeling the same way. He would have given his spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team – well, okay, maybe just for a game or two – to just be able to go back to his common room and relax, enjoy the lack of homework, maybe trash talk a few of his least favorite people with his friends. But their reasons for not wanting to share detention were more than just the fact that it was going to be tedious and time consuming – and rather pointless, when Dumbledore could just wave his wand and the whole room would be spotless. It was the fact that they were afraid of what they would do when they were alone together, especially now that they had spent a great deal of their frustrations and were now just left with the fact that they, to put it frankly, _wanted_ each other.

It was going to be a very long night.

(A/N): Ha! Finally! It has been SO LONG::gets ready to be screamed at/scolded, and rightly so:: More Draco-and-Harrys to those who review!!! I'm now taking requests as to what kind – chocolate and whipped cream can get a bit monotonous after a while, yeah?

P.S. I just loved the idea of Harry and Draco fist-fighting. I don't know why. They just needed to.


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